


A Different Reality

by Cherilyn (Ankh), hgdoghouse



Category: The Fugitive (1993)
Genre: First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-17
Updated: 2011-11-17
Packaged: 2017-10-26 04:49:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/278875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ankh/pseuds/Cherilyn, https://archiveofourown.org/users/hgdoghouse/pseuds/hgdoghouse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Richard Kimble goes to a party and sees his Nemesis, Sam Gerard.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Different Reality

Gerard almost changed his mind as he was putting on his tuxedo. He had met Malcolm French two years ago and knew of his parties but he had never accepted the many invitations extended to him, despite Malcolm's assurances that plenty of straights attended them. It hadn't been a reluctance to be seen in the company of homosexuals and it wasn't that he was anti-social. It wasn't even that he hated wearing a damn penguin suit. It was because much as he disliked dressing up at the best of times, knowing exactly what he planned to do this evening made it all the harder to go through the ritual.

He was going to pick someone up. A man.

There. He'd found the guts to admit it to himself.

He was a pragmatist, a forthright, no bullshit kind of guy - at work. In his private life, his intimate life, he was a sensualist. He loved women, had made love to many women, had delighted in the scent and the taste of them. Yet there was a side to his sexuality that he had never explored, a hidden corner that he kept in shadows because it was easier than to acknowledge its existence. A couple of years back that began to change. The shadows kept lifting; the hidden corner was bright and alluring, attracting him with its hinted delights.

Men who looked like him weren't supposed to want such things, or so he'd always believed, secure in his stereotypes. Then, just after that business with Doctor Richard Kimble, he'd met Malcolm French during a case in which he had been required to keep him in protective custody for a month. Malcolm, who stood six feet four, must weigh in at two hundred and thirty pounds, and whose hobbies included motor racing and boxing. Homosexuals weren't supposed to look like Malcolm either but within two days he knew the man was - not by the way he moved, or spoke but because he couldn't stop talking about his new boyfriend, Jack.

But Malcolm wasn't who he wanted. A month before he'd met French he had discovered what his taste in men was. Well, man at any rate.

Richard Kimble.

He could count the number of times they had met on the fingers of one hand yet he felt as if he had absorbed everything about the man, from the most mundane details of his history to the exact shade of his eyes. A week, that was all it had been; a week of hunting him down, of shooting at him, of trying to save him at the very end.

Of being saved.

How the hell could one man have made such an impact on his life in so little time?

Well, Kimble was out of his life now and Gerard was still having to face up to a whole bunch of personal questions. And while that hadn't got any more comfortable, he was going to do his damnedest to face up to them.

Exhaling softly, Gerard knotted and tweaked straight his bow-tie, his big fingers surprisingly capable at such a fiddly task. Shrugging into his evening jacket, he stared, unblinking, at his own reflection. What had he become? Who had he become? Who was this man with his thinning dark hair and deeply lined face and why had Richard affected him so much?

It was time to find some answers.

 

Doctor Richard Kimble tugged at his bow-tie and tried desperately to hide his unease. He'd always dreaded functions like this. It wasn't that he didn't like parties or anything but he'd always been grateful for the presence of Helen at his side. On this occasion he was not the guest of honor, or a benefactor, or playing the highly respected surgeon while some jerk who looked like a second-rate used car salesman tried to do the soft sell with some unnecessary and expensive piece of medical hardware. No, this evening he was merely an escort, the woman at his side his friend rather than the wife he had adored for eighteen years. Kathy hated driving so Kimble had driven them here, in her car - she might hate driving but it hadn't stopped her from buying her Porsche. She had turned her nose up at Kimble's Mercedes, calling it an old man's mobile armchair, and tossed him her car-keys.

He gave the hand tucked in the crook of his arm a light squeeze, more as a reassurance for himself than his friend. It had been a long, long time since he had attended a party and he was scared to death, though he was damned if he'd let it show.

Kathy Wahlund tilted her head to smile at the man at her side. He looked so confident but she could feel the slight trembling of his hand. She was glad she had wheedled Richard into accompanying her tonight. OK, so he might kill her, slowly, when he realized what she was trying to do but he was too young to moulder in his apartment, with nothing but his tropical fish to keep him company.

It was over three years since Helen had died. True, Richard had been in prison for fifteen months of that time, but she had visited him and had seen the grieving process begin - he'd been so closed off, so into his grief, she was sure it was that which had kept him sane. By being so focused on his loss he had gone through prison life in a daze. Escape had given him something else to focus on, finding the man who had killed his wife. Now she suspected it wasn't grief that was keeping Richard at a distance from human relationships but the conviction that he would never again have a love like he'd had with Helen. That and perhaps a fear that if he did let himself open up he would be dishonoring his dead wife.

Well, Helen Kimble had been special. Kathy liked few people, which was why she had chosen research rather than 'people practice', but she had liked Helen. She knew that Helen would have wanted her husband to find love again. It was time for Richard to move on - he just wasn't ready to admit it. But from the way a certain deputy marshal's name kept cropping up in Richard's conversation it didn't take a genius to figure out which direction Richard was heading. He just needed a gentle push.

Richard took her coat and she watched as he walked away, admiring the tall well-built figure in its black tuxedo. She had tried to set him up with several woman, all beautiful, all fun to be with, all obviously interested in Richard - and not because of his 'celebrity' during his escape.

Christ, that had been a nightmare. Devlin-MacGregor were still being investigated, though thankfully Richard's part in the trial was over. Charles Nichols was rotting away nicely in prison.

No, Richard had other things going for him, like his incurable sweetness and generosity that could still catch her unawares, a dry sense of humor that snuck up on you, and a strength of will that bordered on stubbornness. And he looked fantastic. But his reaction to the women she had introduced him to? Nada.

Kathy had known Richard before his marriage. She knew of his first relationship, a two year fling in college with a bimbo who was sleeping with half the football team. Everyone knew of his third and final relationship with Helen. Not everyone knew of his second relationship in med. school, a relationship that had ended when Helen came on the scene. Kathy knew of it.

So did Charles Nichols.

Richard returned to her side, smiling that faintly apprehensive smile that made her want to wrap her arms around him and stroke his hair. That was the killer, the fact that she could see how damn attractive and downright perfect Richard was, yet there had never been a flicker of anything sexual between them. For some bizarre reason her tastes ran to shorter men, balding for preference - and facial hair was an advantage.

She tucked her hand in the crook of Richard's arm and led him across the large reception hall to the open doors of the ballroom. Their host, Malcolm French, saw them and left the man at his side to greet Kathy, who had known him for several years.

"Darling, you look simply stunning. So good to see you. And who's this attractive man? Have you finally decided to go for big and butch?"

Kathy felt Richard twitch but managed to keep a straight face. "Malcolm, this is my friend - I repeat, my friend - Richard Kimble. Richard, this is Malcolm French, who is being very naughty at the moment. Cut the queen act, Mal. You won't faze Richard. He may not be here to shop but he has been a player."

French gave an unrepentant grin. "You know I can't resist, Kathy," he said, his voice no longer resembling that of the campiest of queens, but deeper, with a trace of a New York accent. He pulled Kathy into a bear hug that left her breathless and gave her a resounding kiss on the mouth that threatened to remove all trace of her lipstick. French then turned to greet the rather solemn looking man at her side. "Richard, a pleasure to have you here," he said, his manner subdued and his face serious; then a smile seemed to fight its way free, as if his exuberance could not be held in check for very long. He gave Kimble a clap on the shoulder. "Come and meet Jack. He's a genuine queen, right down to the sashay, but you can't help but love him." He beckoned to a young man a few yards away. "Jack! Kathy's here - " he threw a teasing grin in Kimble's direction, " - and you'll love her taste in friends."

 

"What the hell have you got me into?" Kimble muttered through clenched teeth and a false smile as they finally left French and his lover. "What did you mean by 'shop'? And 'player'?"

Kathy smiled and patted his arm. "Relax, Richard. It's only a party. Just another excuse for people to dress up, maybe get a little drunk, do a little dance - "

"'A little dance'?" He gave her a look of suspicion. "Are we talking waltz, horizontal tango, or the beast with two backs?"

"All three." Kathy gave an impatient sigh. "Look, it just so happens that a large number of people here are gay - both genders, so don't give me that look. There are straights here, too. Don't worry. No one's going to jump you. There won't be anyone making out on the ballroom floor. It's far too civilized for that."

"Why bring me here?"

Kathy widened her eyes at him, aiming to look trustworthy. It was time for the Academy Award winning performance. "James and Phil said they would be here. It's my only chance to see them before they leave for France. I asked you to come with me because I don't like going to parties on my own." The arm under her hand began to relax.

"Why couldn't you bring your new lover?" Kimble enquired blandly.

Kathy's head shot round. There was something downright sneaky about the way Richard slid in that question. Having been interrupted in the middle of her prepared speech, she was so taken aback she couldn't think of anything to say for several seconds. Finally she managed to ask, "How did you know?"

Kimble gave her a patient look. "It wasn't difficult. You've been off your food and prone to long silences where you sit staring into the middle distance with a sappy look on your face. You've had a real glow about you for the past two weeks. I just can't figure out why you haven't said anything. Unless of course you're trying to tell me something about your own sexual preferences?"

Delighted to hear Richard teasing her, something he hadn't done in quite a while, Kathy poked him none too lightly in the ribs. "No, Cosmo's all man, take my word for - "

"Cosmo?" Kimble interrupted her to exclaim. "The guy's name is Cosmo?"

"What about it?" Kathy asked with a hint of wariness.

"Do parents actually inflict names like that on their kids?"

Hiding her relief, Kathy bared her teeth in a warning smile. "Don't push it, Dick."

"I'm backing off rapidly," Kimble murmured, holding his hands up in surrender. "So how come this Cosmo isn't here dressed up like a damn waiter instead of me?"

"He's been working hard all week and he couldn't make it. Anyway, I wanted to be here with you. You're my friend, some of these people are my friends. Look around, some of these people are friends of yours."

By this time Kimble was giving her only half his attention. "Is that Fred Murray over there?" he hissed.

"That's right," she said matter of factly. "Fred's been in the closet for so long I'm surprised he hasn't got agoraphobia."

"I've been working with him at Cook for twelve months. I knew him years back at Memorial. He's gay?" said Kimble blankly.

"See the man standing next to him? Peter Schwartz has been Fred's partner for three years. Fred feels safe to be out here. Everyone who comes to one of Mal's parties is either gay, or understands his sexuality. People don't just come here for sex. They want to meet like-minded people, maybe do a little business, a little conversing. If they're really lucky they might even make a friend. Whatever. I brought you here because I wanted to spend a nice evening with my best friend, OK?" Kathy took a sip of her drink then added slyly, "Besides, an ass like yours deserves a wider audience."

Kimble choked on a mouthful of champagne. He glared at Kathy but outrage quickly turned to amusement, his laughter running free in a way it very rarely did. It was a laugh that invited others to join in, lighting his entire face, and the sound of it made several heads turn, people wanting to know the cause and share in his amusement.

"Kath," he chided, shaking his head at her in amused reproof. Laughter still bubbled up inside him, as if it was reluctant to go back to its dormant state. Glancing into the mirror beside him, the joyous sound died in his throat and he took an involuntary step back from the sight of his Nemesis.

 

Gerard entered the ballroom, tugging his bow-tie straight as he did so. Seeing practically every man in the room dressed in the same black and white penguin suit as himself made him feel a lot more comfortable. Malcolm put out a hand to greet him, his smile warm and welcoming as he introduced Gerard to his lover. Jack was a pretty young man who, from the way he was leaning close to Malcolm, hanging onto his every word, clearly adored him.

After exchanging a few words with both men Gerard glanced idly around, his attention caught by a lull in conversation. He discovered he was being watched by almost everyone around him, whispers circling outwards. Puzzled rather than alarmed, he drew dark brows low over slightly narrowed eyes. When he locked gazes with a couple of people they promptly looked away. Hearing laughter, he looked to his left to locate the source. He felt a jolt of startled disbelief when he saw the man standing there with his back to the room, facing one of the huge silver-framed mirrors that lined the pale green walls.

Doctor Richard Kimble. His innocent fugitive.

The severe set of Gerard's mouth relaxed, lips parting, as the shock of seeing Kimble coursed through him. As if pulled by some invisible force he began to cross the huge room, his gaze remaining on the tall figure, noting the straight back and the way the light shone on the beautifully cut brown hair with its sprinkling of gray. As he got closer he could see Kimble's reflection even clearer in the mirror, his face lit by the laughter he was sharing with his female companion.

He'd never seen Richard laugh before.

Reaction ran through Gerard, making his stomach clench, although not unpleasantly. He had a good memory for faces and had believed he'd remembered every detail of Kimble's face, but he hadn't. This Kimble had a lopsided, battered charm, the nose slightly askew, the jaw off-kilter. The scar slashed across the chin was as he remembered it but he had forgotten how it drew the eyes to the lush lower lip. The eyes were sparkling. This Kimble was no longer a prisoner, or a hunted man; he looked relaxed and happy and seemed to have put behind him the horrors of his past. And he was more desirable than Gerard could have imagined.

Awareness of the party-goers who were avidly waiting to see what would happen faded, all Gerard's attention on the doctor. He felt as if he was trembling, although he hoped that was just his imagination. He made a conscious effort to keep his breathing steady but there was nothing he could do to slow his racing pulse. He was still several yards away from his quarry when Kimble spotted his reflection in the mirror as he drew closer. His laughter cut off, the amused sparkle in his eyes dulling. It was a moment before Gerard recognized what expression had replaced Richard's unselfconscious pleasure.

There was fear in his eyes.

That the last expression he had expected to see, Gerard faltered, the muscles around his eyes tightening as if he was in pain; then his head went back and he moved in.

 

His gaze locked on the man homing in on him, Kimble forced himself to breathe; in, out, in out, concentrating on that while the blood thumped in his ears and he fought the urge to run.

Christ. He'd never expected to see this man again. His throat closed as he watched Gerard draw closer, looking tall and powerful and so damn menacing in stark black and white. He could feel himself getting smaller, his shoulders slumping as if he was curling in on himself. His pulse leapt, his skin felt icy, yet he was sweating. Shock, he recognized in some small, dispassionate part of his brain.

He couldn't turn around to face Gerard, frozen into place, although he was tensed as if for flight. He wanted to run so much his muscles ached with the need. He was unaware of Kathy talking to him, unaware of anything except the sight of the man who had hunted him down - deputy U. S. marshal Samuel Gerard.

 

There was something primitive in Gerard's response to Kimble's fear, something over which he had no control. He could feel Kimble shrinking away from him and he intended to back off, but if anything his pace increased as he approached the doctor, his eyes locked with the other man's in the mirror. Focused entirely on his prey, he was unaware of the predatory set of his face or his hunter's stalk.

"Sam! I didn't know you knew Malcolm! It's great to see you again."

Gerard snapped out of hunter mode and glared at the person who stepped in front of him, blocking the path to Kimble, who was less than two yards away, still with his back to him. His glare softened when he saw it was a delicately featured woman he had slept with about three years ago. He put on his most charming smile as she led him away and prepared to talk pretty for half an hour. Kimble wouldn't be going anywhere - if he knew his man.

And he did.

Perhaps more importantly, he had found some answers and now knew himself.

 

Kathy tightened her grasp on Kimble's hand until he snapped out of his dazed state. Because she had nagged Richard to bring her here a wave of guilt surged through her but she pushed it down, needing to concentrate on her friend. "We can leave if you want to."

Kimble gazed at her blankly for a moment, then lifted his chin a little, a stubborn gleam in his eyes. "Why should I leave? I don't have to talk to the guy if I don't want to." He was standing straighter now, the appalled look gone from his face. His voice was stronger, reflecting the return of control and confidence; he even managed a genuine smile. "It happened a long time ago. It's over. Gerard was just doing his job. Hell, maybe I'll go talk to him."

"You don't have to," Kathy pointed out gently, beginning to wish she had minded her own business. The fear she had glimpsed on Richard's face a short while ago wasn't something she wanted to see again, although there was no trace of it now as he stared into the mirror, obviously searching for Gerard in the now crowded ballroom. The buzz of conversation threatened to drown out the sound of the orchestra playing at the far end of the room.

"That's right - I don't," agreed Kimble, turning to give her his full attention. "Hey, there's Phil and James coming in. Why don't you go and say hello while I get us some more champagne."

"Richard - "

He placed a firm hand in the small of her back, encouraging her to move away from him. "I'm fine, Kath. Really. Go say hi."

Before she could protest again he left her to head for the nearest waiter, scooping two glasses of champagne from the tray. Having selected his spot, he wandered over to an open set of french windows, and waited. Gerard would be heading toward him soon - if he knew his man.

 

Surreptitiously watching her friend, Kathy's look of concern vanished. If she had been other than a sweet-natured lady the smile which spread across her face might have been described as devilish.

 

Gerard had finally put a name to the face he had only seen from a photograph. Was Miss Wahlund still the doctor's friend or had she become something more? While he listened to Michelle, apparently with great interest, he had studied Kimble and Ms Wahlund's body language. Tension eased from him as he studied them together. While they were comfortably occupying each other's space, if they had been lovers it had been a long time ago; if they'd had sex it had been the comfort of a friend. He didn't begrudge Richard that.

As soon as he saw Kimble leave Dr Wahlund and wander off alone he excused himself to Michelle and headed straight for the doctor, ignoring those who tried to catch his eye, or physically intercept him.

Richard was looking well.

Gerard gave a wry smile. Years of kidding himself had become a habit it was hard to break. OK, Richard looked good enough to eat, with or without dressing. It was nearly two years since he'd last seen him. There was a little more gray in the hair perhaps and the lines on the face were a little deeper but he looked much as he had when Gerard had first met him.

Well, maybe 'met' was an overly optimistic way of viewing things. When he'd hunted Richard down and shot at him. There. He pulled a face. This honesty thing was a pain in the ass.

He saw Kimble's eyes flick over him as he drew nearer, lingering here and there. Especially there, or was that just his imagination?

Honesty could have its compensations. After all, Richard was at this party, probably for the same reason he was. Still, best to tread lightly. The last thing he wanted was Richard socking him on the jaw. They were already attracting way too much attention.

Nearing his quarry, Gerard's smile was no more than a slight lifting of the lips as he allowed his gaze to drift over the other man. Close up Richard looked even better than he remembered. He'd forgotten just how tempting that mouth was, that full lower lip inviting oral exploration. He wanted to draw it out between his own, to slide his tongue across the curve of it then slip inside to taste him. He wanted to take his time learning Richard's taste and scent and how he sounded when he came. His cock twitched in response to these thoughts and he blinked to clear his mind of images of an aroused Kimble.

"Doctor Kimble. You're looking well," he said, aware of an overly hearty note in his voice without being able to do a thing about it. He hadn't been this nervous on his first date, he thought fleetingly.

"Better than the last time we met, you mean?" countered Kimble, an edge to his voice. "If you remember I'd just fallen down an elevator shaft."

Gerard hid his disappointment well. He shouldn't have been surprised by this reception - or by his own reaction to it. When was he going to learn? He was too damn old to be an optimist. Of course Richard would still feel bitter - the guy had been through hell. His predatory smile faded, his face gentling. "We're on the first floor here, doctor, there are no elevators tonight." He tried to keep his tone light but wasn't sure if he had succeeded.

"No guns either," Kimble added, a taunting edge still sharpening his voice.

Gerard's eyes flickered and he looked down for a moment before he recovered. "No guns," he agreed quietly, drawing back the sides of his jacket. "I'll leave you to enjoy the party in peace," he added, proud that he managed to keep his voice level. "I won't bother you again. You can trust me." He nodded once at the doctor, a hint of a self-mocking smile twisting his mouth as he turned away, already searching out the nearest exit.

A hand touched him lightly on the arm and he turned to find Kimble watching him, an apologetic look on his face.

"Sorry. I do trust you. And you're not bothering me. Here, peace offering," Kimble said, passing Gerard the second glass of champagne before he offered a wary smile.

Aware of the intensity with which the hazel eyes were watching him, Gerard accepted the glass automatically. He stared at the crystal flute, which looked ridiculously fragile in his large hand, before he looked up, his direct gaze locking with the doctor's. "What the hell have you got to apologize for?" he countered dryly. "I'm lucky you didn't decide to stick this glass somewhere other than in my hand."

Tension easing away, Kimble managed to smile without effort this time. "Tempting but I'll pass. Besides, it would ruin the line of that tux."

"Then I can trust you to resist temptation?"

A stillness came over Kimble's face and there was an intensity in the hazel eyes that made Gerard's pulse quicken.

"I didn't say that," Kimble said, his voice so low that his words were barely audible. He gazed at Gerard for a moment, mouth slightly parted as though he was about to speak but he remained silent. Then he blinked and the intensity faded from his eyes. He looked over Gerard's shoulder to see their host, plus Fred Murray approaching, worried looks on their faces. "Here comes the cavalry. Although I'm not sure which of us they figure needs rescuing." He smiled politely as Malcolm French insisted Gerard come and be introduced to another guest who was desperate to meet him.

Gerard seemed about to resist, saw the amusement in Richard's eyes and let himself be steered away without protest, although he threw Kimble a rueful look over his shoulder.

The doctor threw one right back at him, then politely turned to listen to the surgeon at his side. His mind was elsewhere as he replayed every second of his exchange with the deputy. There had been a moment when he had found himself playing word games with the other man and he had a faint suspicion why, but he shoved it aside, not ready to consider it. Instead he wondered why he should have imagined that, for a moment, Gerard had looked as if he was planning to fuck him right where they stood.

Even more unsettling was the fact that his dick had been half-hard even before that thought occurred to him.

Jesus.

Taking a deep breath, he had to ask Fred Murray to repeat what he had just said.

 

It soon became apparent to Kimble that there was a conspiracy to keep he and Gerard apart. Twice he tried to head in the deputy marshal's direction and each time he was headed off at the pass. What the conspirators, who included most of his friends who were attending as well as both hosts, didn't seem to realize was that it made him all the more determined to speak to Gerard. He'd been watching the deputy at every opportunity, acutely conscious of the tall, straight-backed figure wherever he was in the crowded ballroom. Sam eased through the eddies of people with a graceful, unstudied economy of movement, quick smiles lighting the severity of his face in repose. The elegant severity of his tuxedo and the simple evening shirt he wore flattered a physique that needed no assistance. Wide of shoulder and narrow of flank, even when Sam stood still there was the promise of the strength and energy that were leashed, waiting to be given free rein.

Kimble hadn't been able to decide if Sam Gerard was a handsome man or not. Attractive yes, impressive certainly, charismatic obviously. The force of his personality was overwhelming, the face the kind you remembered. Taken separately, each feature seemed as if it should belong on a different face. The nose was too wide, the ears too big and the jaw belonged to a boxer or a football player. Those black eyebrows were best suited to a devil - or a lawyer - and could be used to intimidate, or to appeal. The mouth was divine; while it was stern in repose, the merest twitch could signify a multitude of emotions from amusement to impatience right through to contempt. The eyes were incredible - when Kimble got close enough to see them, which given the number of times he was hauled away from Gerard's vicinity to talk to yet another doctor, wasn't often - so dark, so mesmeric. A single glance from them was enough to hold him captive, so that he lost awareness of anyone else in the room. Those incredibly long eyelashes, something he had never really noticed on a man, were an unnecessary embellishment, the eyes and the life within them striking enough.

And the body -

Kimble took a sip of champagne, his glass slippery in his hand. He was determined not to think about Gerard for at least ten minutes.

His resolve held for a good twenty seconds. When he found his gaze locked on Gerard's back for the third time in under five minutes he stepped through the french windows and wandered out into the extensive gardens, striding away from temptation.

It was several minutes before he paused to take stock.

This far from the house the lighting was discreet, leaving him in semi-darkness. The night air seemed wonderfully cool after the heat and noise of the ballroom. Soaking up the silence, glad of a chance to regroup his defenses, Kimble slowed his pace to a stroll through the grounds, which were seemingly deserted. While he was alone, one man continued to occupy his thoughts.

Sighing, he headed for the ornamental lake he could see up ahead of him. The air was heavy with the scent of gardenia as he sank onto one of the decorative cast-iron benches that were set around the lake. The surface of the water was like polished onyx in the near-darkness and he watched as the slightest breeze broke the calm, distorting the reflection of the crescent moon.

He wasn't thinking of anything in particular, his mind flitting from images from the past to pictures of the present, lingering a little on that of Sam Gerard, so compelling in black and white formal attire.

So compelling in any attire if he was completely honest with himself. Though none would be better, he admitted.

He'd look even better naked.

Kimble sat up, body tensing, his breath held in check. After a brief moment he relaxed and remembered to breathe.

Jesus.

Shouldn't that have taken longer?

In fact where the hell had that come from?

As if he didn't know. It was too damn easy to lie to yourself. He should know. He'd been doing it for almost two years.

His earlier suspicion was now full-blown realization. He shook his head in denial but there was no arguing with the facts.

He had thought of Gerard often in the months following his acquittal of Helen's murder. He had come to terms with the loss of his wife, locked away the memories of his time in prison and Nichols' betrayal and got on with his life. Yet he had been unable to consign his encounters with Gerard to the place where those other memories resided. It was as if he couldn't let go, although he had tried his damnedest.

He had done his best to rebuild his life. The same way he had tried dating. The same way he had tried to turn his new house into a home. He had done the right things. He had taken the women to the right restaurants, to the right shows, had paid the right compliments and gone for the right type - the type that had always attracted him before. He bought the right things: a house that would require a lot of work, enabling him to stamp his own signature on it, to make it his own; furniture that was simple yet elegant; the right paintings - the type that had always been pleasing to his eyes before. But the women remained unappealing and the house remained a sterile place, in need of repair, where he slept and ate.

Of the people around him only Kathy had reached him. But even she hadn't been able to stir his emotions fully back to life. Only those strangely tenacious memories of Gerard had been vibrant enough to arouse any depth of emotion. He had gone through anger, still retained a sense of gratitude, and was to this day confused by his reaction to the man. Not the man in the tunnel who had hurt him with his carelessly spoken "I don't care", or the man who had terrified him during the chase through the federal lockup and across the Daley Center Plaza. The man he remembered most vividly was the Sam Gerard who had lowered his gun and had responded to his final plea of innocence with "I know it, Richard". That was the same man who had stayed with him in the car; who had displayed humanity and humor; and who had seemed to reach out to him. The same man who had been a solid, comforting lifeline throughout the seemingly endless bout of questioning that had followed.

So what exactly was that man to him?

Stretching his legs out in front of him, his thoughts continued to drift until something alerted him to a presence at his back. He knew instantly who it must be.

"Hello, deputy," he said, without needing to turn and check who it was.

"My name's Sam," said Gerard, with nothing in his easy tone to betray how nervous he felt. The heat and the buzz of the party a long way behind them, there was an unexpected intimacy to being alone in the darkness with Richard Kimble. He moved to the edge of the bench, staring broodingly down at the doctor. "You're not enjoying the party?"

Without looking up, Kimble eased along the seat to make room for the other man. He flicked a glance at Gerard as he sat beside him, the deputy marshal's big hands fidgeting with the empty champagne glass he still held.

Gerard noticed the direction of the doctor's gaze. "I should have brought you some." Having slightly misjudged the distance between them, he was sitting close enough to feel the warmth emanating from Kimble's body and to catch the drift of his cologne. He was careful to keep his gaze on the glass he was twisting in his hand.

"Too much champagne goes to my head," Kimble said, his eyes on their distorted reflections in the water. The sight of Gerard next to him felt strangely familiar, as if he belonged there. He shook the peculiar fancy aside and looked at the moon's reflection instead.

"And you have to stay alert?" asked Gerard.

Kimble shrugged and gave a small smile. "I like to be in control," he admitted.

"Always?"

Kimble caught the intense note in Gerard's voice and looked across at the marshal, his eyes questioning.

"You don't have to answer that," Gerard added in a lighter tone, giving the other man space if he wanted it.

"I know that. I'm no control freak. Well, I don't think I am. Who would want to stay in control all the time? There's a freedom in handing over the reins, if there's trust."

Kimble wondered at the tiny smile that tugged at Gerard's attractive mouth, then realized he was leaning towards it, drawn to those slightly dry, just parted lips as if to a magnet. Too much champagne, he told himself firmly, straightening where he sat. No wonder he felt as if his head was spinning.

Gerard's smile widened and for the life of him he couldn't suppress the amused sound that escaped him, half snort, half chuckle.

Warmth spread through Kimble when he saw the expression on Gerard's face. There was amusement, but there was also something akin to shyness. It was incredibly appealing. It occurred to him that he had a lot to learn about Sam Gerard. Whether he would ever have the chance was another matter.

"In a different reality we could have been friends," he murmured, almost to himself, his eyes drifting over the other man's face, trying to learn its secrets. He wished he'd kept a guard on his tongue when Gerard stopped smiling.

There was a hint of a challenge when the deputy asked, "Why can't we?"

Kimble gave him an impatient look. "Get real, Sam. There's too much in the past between us."

Gerard held the doctor's gaze by sheer force of will. "There's a reason it's called the past, Richard. You have to grab on to the present and live it."

"And look toward the future?"

All his concentration focused on his companion, the intensity of Gerard's gaze was difficult to sustain. "I prefer to take each day as it comes. Where I can I build the foundations for my future."

"But how can you let go of a past like ours?" asked Kimble, with something like despair. He had tried so hard but never seemed able to find a way out of the maze.

Gerard looked pensive as he stared at the lake. After a moment of silence he finally turned to face his companion. "I guess it depends on how much you want to," he said quietly. "We don't need a different reality, Richard. There's nothing we can't do with this one. The possibilities are endless. Reality is what we make it." He stood up, gave Kimble a smile that held more than a hint of wistfulness, then began the walk back toward the house.

Kimble swivelled around to watch him go. The emotional lethargy which had held him in limbo since Helen's death had slowly been easing its grip on him for some time. Watching the easy athletic grace of Sam Gerard walking away from him, the echo of that soft, quiet voice with its seductive certainty stroking his senses, he straightened where he sat, his mouth firming with determination.

Sam was right. Everything depended on how much he wanted to.

His decision was made in a heartbeat.

Taking a steadying breath, he got to his feet and headed purposefully back to the house, and Sam Gerard.

 

As he moved about the ballroom, conversing with the other guests, Gerard kept an eye on the french windows; he relaxed when Kimble appeared only five minutes or so after himself. Something about the other man seemed to have changed, and when their eyes met across the expanse of the ballroom he felt his pulse kick up a notch. He managed to nod, found a smile, and belatedly turned his attention back to the woman trying to claim it.

It was impossible to concentrate. Acutely aware of Kimble, all Gerard's senses were locked to the doctor and he was slow to react to those around him. Twice he was propositioned by men, one of them an extremely pretty young man who reminded him a little of one of his deputies, Noah Newman. He turned them both down with a graceful apology, unaware that he had piqued the interest of several others who had stayed away only because his attention was clearly held elsewhere.

He quickly tired of pretending he was unaware of Kimble watching him and looked across, immediately locking eyes with the other man. Instead of looking away, Kimble held his gaze for what felt like a minute then smiled and turned back to the woman at his side. But not before he had flicked another look Gerard's way.

Gerard drew in a ragged breath and rubbed at his temple. If he was still in his right mind then what had just passed between them had been damn-near flirtation.

His own words to Kimble echoed back at him. Hell, maybe he knew what he was talking about after all. Maybe reality could be what they made it.

 

"Enjoying the party?"

Kimble started, slopping champagne over his hand. He had thought he knew Gerard's exact location, as he'd been aware of it for most of the evening, but the other man had caught him by surprise, springing up to catch him unawares. To hide his consternation he paused to lick the few drops of champagne from his fingers, then looked up to find Gerard watching him closely.

"I've been talking shop for the past hour. This party isn't what I thought it would be," Kimble added with a trace of disappointment.

Gerard hid his amusement, deciding not to let Richard know he'd made the same assumptions. "You haven't been to one of these before?"

"No. You?"

"It's my first time, too," Gerard admitted, with a wry twist of the lips which spoke volumes.

Kimble's smile was decidedly lopsided. "Kathy dragged me here. She thinks I need to get out more. Maybe do a little shopping."

"As in - ?" Gerard let the question trail off gracefully, reproving himself for the sudden leap of his pulse.

"Yeah," said Kimble dryly. "As in."

The dark eyes travelled over him, seemingly inch by inch, but there was nothing offensive in Gerard's survey, only appreciation. And a promise which made the blood thump in Kimble's ears.

"Seen anyone you like?" Gerard drawled eventually, his tone ultra-casual. If someone had moved in on Richard he would...would have to stand back and wish Richard well. Jesus. "Well?" he snapped when the other man didn't reply immediately.

Kimble shrugged. "I've been out of the game too long." He gave Gerard a sidelong look. "Who would you suggest?"

Gerard's pulse kicked up another notch. He rubbed at the back of his neck, then absently went to loosen his collar before he remembered he was in evening dress; it suddenly felt too damn hot in the room. "I don't know. What do you - ? Dammit!"

Kimble turned his head to see the cause of Gerard's displeasure and almost bumped noses with yet another doctor, one he vaguely recognised from the E.R. at Cook County. The man began to introduce himself.

Malcolm French chose that moment to approach Gerard. "Sam, I have - "

"No," said Gerard, flat but emphatic.

" - someone who - Excuse me?" French stared at Gerard, clearly taken aback by the deputy marshal's ferocious glare.

"I'm talking to Richard." Gerard turned his intimidating stare to the young doctor, who took an involuntary step back. "Doctor Carter you said? Nice to meet you. You work at Cook County? Great, no doubt you'll see Richard at work. Now if you'll excuse us? Richard and I have things to discuss." He placed a hand on Kimble's back and steered the unresisting doctor toward the french windows. Because he scowled at anyone foolhardy enough to get in their path their passage miraculously cleared.

By the time they reached the sanctuary of the terrace Kimble's shoulders were shaking as he tried to suppress his laughter. There was a teasing light in his eyes when he turned to Gerard, careful not to dislodge the hand branding the small of his back with its warmth. "Oh, that was smooth, Gerard. Real smooth."

Gerard's glare faded but his expression remained serious, his gaze intense as it fixed on Kimble. "The name's Sam," he reminded him patiently.

Regretting the fact that Gerard had removed his hand, Kimble remained close to the other man. "Well, Sam, has anyone ever had a word with you about subtlety?" Those dark eyes seemed to see clear to the heart of him.

"I guess they think I'm a lost cause. Let's not pussyfoot around here, Richard. I want to have sex with you," said Gerard matter of factly. "I don't want to go into the reasons why, or start looking for reasons why not. If

you want to have sex with me then let's leave now. If not, I'd appreciate it if you don't take a swing at me, I have an important meeting in the morning. Just say no and I'll get the hell out of your face."

"Are you always this direct?" Kimble asked, taken aback and playing for time.

"I have to be in my job. Besides, life's too short to be anything else. What will it be?"

Hypnotized, Kimble stared at the other man. Unsmiling, almost looking severe, Gerard made no attempt to charm or cajole - equally there was nothing casual about the dark intensity of his stare. Sam meant every word. Sam wanted him.

"Sleeping with you would be crazy," Kimble mused, but his face was alive with speculation.

Gerard gave a half smile. "I'm not asking you to sleep with me. I'm asking you to have sex with me."

Shock having worn off surprisingly quickly, Kimble grinned. "You mean I don't get to stay for breakfast?" he teased.

The strained look around Gerard's eyes faded and he gave a fully-fledged smile of immense charm. "Hell, you can stay for dinner if you want. You want to go say goodbye to your friends?"

"Sure. You go do the same," instructed Kimble.

Gerard gave an amused snort. "After I just bit the host's head off and whisked you away? I won't have any friends here. You've got a lot of people looking out for you."

Kimble shrugged, then gave his companion a look of amusement. "Who says they're just looking out for me? You've been attracting quite a lot of attention yourself. I'll get our coats. You get your car - I didn't bring mine. I'll meet you outside."

 

As he thanked his host Kimble turned faintly pink when he caught the knowing gleam in Malcolm French's eyes. He shook the man's hand and beat a hasty retreat before French could ask any awkward questions.

He was far too preoccupied to want to question Kathy Wahlund's easy acceptance about being abandoned, although he choked faintly when he realized the band was playing 'Falling in Love Again'. His smile a private thing as he hurried out to Gerard, he did not see the high-five exchanged by his host and Kathy Wahlund.

 

 

"You are the master," Kathy acknowledged, laughing. "And that choice of song was inspired. I owe you twenty dollars. I never thought it would take the first time we brought them together."

"Keep your money, honey. That was too easy," dismissed French, sounding vaguely disappointed. "Even I thought Sam would hold out for longer than this. They make a fine looking couple, don't they," he added romantically.

"It's early days yet," said Kathy, wary of expecting much at this stage, even as she made a mental note to feed Richard's fish this weekend.

French patted her arm. "Trust me, darling and start saving for His and His towels," he said comfortably.

 

Shivering as a light breeze penetrated his clothing and cooled his overheated flesh, Kimble jogged over to where Gerard was parked. His car, a black Ford Taurus, looked suspiciously like department issue. When Kimble got inside he found the deputy marshal was staring straight ahead, fingers tapping restlessly against the steering wheel.

He cast a glance at the doctor as he fastened his seat belt, then stared through the windshield. His voice sounded curiously diffident when he asked, "We going to my apartment, Richard?"

"Sure," said Kimble with every appearance of ease.

"Anything you need from your place?" asked Gerard.

"Ah, we'll need to stop off at a pharmacy," Kimble said with meaning.

Gerard gave him another of his sidelong glances. "I have those. I also have a spare toothbrush. No, I meant anything else - medication, contact lens stuff, stuffed animals - "

"I see you're an old hand at this," said Kimble. "No, nothing."

"Then let's go." Gerard started up the car then headed down the drive, joining the trickle of traffic that was heading for the major roads further south. He remained silent for a while, trying not to think about what was happening, what would soon be happening, what would happen when whatever had happened had - well - happened.

Jesus he must be crazy.

They must both be crazy.

That was a distinct possibility.

He sneaked a look at the man at his side and discovered Kimble was watching him with a disturbing intensity. Gerard returned his attention to the road ahead but couldn't resist sneaking another look. Caught out, his smile was rather shy. When Kimble returned it, looking far less confident than he had sounded, Gerard took an audible breath and made a conscious effort to concentrate on his driving.

Crazy could be good. It sure as hell beat fantasies and longing and two years of feeling more alone than he had ever felt in his life.

Beside Gerard, Kimble was silent, his thoughts whirling but never settling to be examined. He was conscious of every sound, every small movement his companion made and he shifted in his seat, arousal making him uncomfortable and restless. As he made himself sit still he became aware of other sounds: Gerard's

breathing; the occasional tapping of blunt-tipped fingers on the steering wheel; the sound of his own breathing, far too quick and shallow and very loud, too loud to be masked by the noise of the traffic around them. He tried to slow his breathing down, to quieten it, and found Gerard was watching him, a look of understanding on his face.

Clearing his throat, Kimble realized Gerard had been as aware of the soft sounds as he had. "It's been a while for me," he explained awkwardly, his grin self-conscious.

The somewhat stern set of Gerard's mouth softened. "This isn't exactly usual for me," he offered, skirting around the truth.

"No?" Unconscious of the relief he betrayed, Kimble relaxed a little, then twisted on his seat so he could watch the other man openly and in comfort.

Gerard's hand rose to his collar and this time he unfastened his bow tie and the top couple of buttons of his dress shirt. The strong brown column of his throat was an invitation the doctor only just managed to resist.

There was still a part of Kimble that could not believe what was happening. Less than three hours ago Samuel Gerard had been a memory to haunt his dreams. Now he was sitting in the man's car and would -

He was going back to Sam's place. They were going to have sex.

Kimble's stomach clenched then relaxed as heat blossomed, spreading throughout him, hottest in his lower belly and groin.

He was going to have sex with Sam Gerard and he couldn't wait to start.

Seeming to breathe with the pulse of his blood, he finally admitted that he had plans which went way beyond breakfast.

Damn, how long had that been lurking? Was this why Sam had held such a place in his mind?

He knew he hadn't been planning this. How could he have thought of sex with Gerard when they first met? He had been too intent on tracking down his wife's murderer; too busy with his grief and with staying free long enough to complete his task. No, he was sure there had been nothing sexual in his response to Gerard.

Well, not initially. What of later? It was true he'd had sex with a man before, although he preferred to push that memory to the darkest recesses of his mind, unable to think of Charles Nichols as anything other than the man responsible for Helen's death. It was true he had noticed other men - and that they had all been dark-haired confident men of his own height.

Like Sam.

Surely he hadn't thought of - hadn't even noticed - Gerard in that way when - ?

He felt a rush of guilt and pushed it aside. No, he hadn't.

So when had he started to want Sam Gerard?

It couldn't all be just some weird dream, could it? Logically, he knew it was real, but his emotions got the better of him and a sick sense of fear surged through him. He reached out to brush his fingertips across the other man's thigh, sucking in a relieved breath when he felt warm flesh and firm muscle. His hand settled there, lingering until he made himself lift it away when Gerard spared him a questioning glance.

"I just needed to check this was real," he muttered, unaware of the vulnerability of his face at that moment.

While Gerard's smile was so tense it was closer to a grimace, it reassured Kimble more than any glib response. Exhaling softly, he settled back on his seat, and continued to watch the man driving them through the darkness with an economical competence.

He was going to have sex with Sam Gerard. He was going to make love to this beautiful man. To feel all that intensity directed solely at himself. To cup that glorious ass and taste that mouth. He was going to have Sam Gerard.

Christ, it was hot in here. Didn't this car have air-conditioning?

His hand unsteady, he hit a button and the window shot down too far, blasting the interior with cool air. Closing the window again, Kimble unfastened his bow-tie and the top few buttons of his shirt, wishing his hands would stop shaking.

The car seemed to be crawling along and he fidgeted on the seat again. Why did Sam have to live so far away?

Gerard signalled a left and Kimble stared at the other man's hand, seeing the strength in those square, wide fingers; that hand was larger than his own and the knowledge was intensely erotic. In a heartbeat he went from that realization to images of those hands on his body and he had to stifle a groan.

Gerard was pulling up at a red light and must have caught the sound because he looked across. Unable to look away, Kimble gazed right back, the wanting stark on his face.

Gerard had to swallow to ease his suddenly dry throat as Richard stared at him, a hot hungry look in his eyes. His body responded immediately, the rush of blood leaving him dizzy and achingly erect. He fought for breath while his erection throbbed and pushed at the confines of his pants, demanding attention. The car still stationary, he found himself leaning toward Richard, unable to control the movement until the blast of a car horn behind him jerked him back in his seat. He dragged air into his lungs and drove on, his eyes fixed on the road in case he did something incredibly stupid, like haul Richard onto the back seat and swallow his cock.

Jesus, Jesus, Jesus -

He could feel those hazel eyes on him, feel them drawing his dick impossibly higher.

"Oh God, Sam. Get us home," Kimble begged, his voice a husky rasp that went straight to Gerard's groin.

"It's not far now," he croaked. It never occurred to him to query Richard's choice of words.

Kimble almost whimpered when he saw Gerard's tongue flick out over his dry bottom lip. He would moisten it for Sam. He would do anything Sam wanted.

Shit.

Kimble retreated into the corner of his seat and tried to think of nothing at all as he struggled to control his breathing, his hands punched into the pockets of his dinner jacket in a way that did nothing for its fit, but that stopped him from reaching out to touch Gerard.

As for Gerard, he tried not to think of Kimble as he drove the last few miles to his home but had to admit defeat within an embarrassingly short period of time. How could he not be aware of Richard when he could sense every slight movement he made, could hear the doctor's futile efforts to steady his breathing, could feel his body heat and was willing to swear he could smell the heady musk of his arousal. His senses swamped by everything that was Richard, his body had become one massive pulse of longing, culminating in the ferocious ache in his groin.

It was with great relief that Gerard realized he had driven into the private parking lot for his apartment block. He switched off the engine and got out of the car before he gave in to the desire to pounce on Kimble. His hand was shaking as he locked the vehicle. He barely glanced at the doctor as they took the elevator up to his apartment level; the few feet separating them was not nearly enough for comfort. Only the knowledge that there was a security camera above them kept them apart. Gerard caught himself counting the floors as they lit up. By the time they reached his apartment his erection had subsided to a more comfortable level. He opened the door and stepped aside to let Kimble enter.

It was a large apartment, though not so big that one man would rattle around in it. Two things had attracted Gerard to it, the excellent sound-proofing and the location; close enough to make the trip into work fairly quick and easy, but far enough from the hustle and bustle of Downtown Chicago so that the damn noise didn't drive him crazy.

"Make yourself at home while I see to some coffee," he muttered, tossing his keys onto the table and escaping into the kitchen.

It was five minutes before he realized he hadn't put any water in the kettle. Five minutes of listening to Richard Kimble wander around his apartment.

Grinding fresh beans taken from the freezer, it occurred to him that he must have done something exceptionally good in another life. Richard was here. In his apartment. Soon to be in his bed.

Coffee grains covered the counter and floor by the time he had finished the simple task.

Kimble entered the kitchen as Gerard was setting out creamer for their coffee. "This is a nice place. Is it your choice of decor?" he added, genuinely interested.

"Yeah. It was all white and blue when I moved in - it looked like a damn hospital." Gerard was pleased to note that his voice was steady. He slid a quick look at Kimble's groin and was reassured and pleased to see the doctor was in the same aroused state as himself, though he hadn't really doubted it.

It was a wonder they hadn't spontaneously combusted in the elevator.

Forgetting the coffee, both men wandered into the large living area without ever quite touching - the promise was heady enough. Needing more time, Kimble paused, seeking a distraction. He saw one in the painting which hung over the dark red sofa. The image depicted was of two horses, one black, one larger, a finely built chestnut stallion, standing side by side on a ledge of red sandstone, while beneath them the ground dropped away to reveal a desert landscape. It should have looked hackneyed, yet the artist had made the horses living, breathing flesh, the landscape just as alive and vibrant despite its apparent bleakness.

"I like that. Was it done by a local artist?" Kimble asked, stepping closer.

"Yeah."

The combination of Gerard's evasive tone and the small initials 'SG' in the bottom left-hand corner of the picture made Kimble swing around.

"This 'SG' wouldn't be you, by any chance?"

Gerard shifted his weight from one foot to the other and mumbled something incomprehensible; a slight flush crept up his face.

The sight of Sam Gerard embarrassed was so unexpected - and oddly endearing - that Kimble took pity on him and forbore to tease. But he mentally stored away the information to be examined at a later date. This was proof positive of how much he had to learn about this man.

"Where was it done, Texas?" he asked matter-of-factly.

It took a moment for Gerard to take in what Kimble had said. The other man's voice had always been deep but now there was an added richness to the timbre. It stroked Gerard's ears like a caress, struck him in the stomach like a blow, and flooded him with heat. He fought for control, surprised by how normal his voice sounded.

"Yeah. I lived there till seven or eight years ago."

"Why did you move to Chicago?" asked Kimble.

"Promotion. I test clean."

The abrupt change of subject didn't seem to catch Kimble by surprise. "Me too."

Gerard made an expressive little gesture with his hands, looking oddly helpless for such a competent man.

"I don't have much experience with this, Richard. I know what feels good with women but...you're not a woman."

"You noticed. That's a good start, Sam."

That made Gerard smile, easing some of the tension he was feeling. "Difficult not to notice. I keep staring at your dick. So what are we planning here?"

"Whatever feels right," croaked Kimble, just before his tongue flicked out over his lower lip as his cock felt compelled to respond to the caress in the dark eyes which had settled on it.

Gerard parted his large hands, and gave a self-derisive snort. "I feel like a teenage virgin who doesn't know what the hell he's doing. You think you can take the lead here?"

Kimble gave a comical grimace, his hands parting. "I'm not exactly Mr Experienced myself, Sam. There was one guy back in college - "

"College!" Gerard began to laugh.

"I'm glad you think this is funny," Kimble grumbled but there was a glint of amusement in his eyes by this time.

"I figured you'd - Hell, it doesn't matter. I guess we'll muddle through. You need to use the bathroom?"

It was Kimble's turn to start laughing.

Gerard gave the other man a tolerant look before scooping up a cushion and tossing it at him. "That wasn't what I meant, Richard. The bedroom's this way," he added, heading towards it.

Following him, Kimble watched as Gerard paused by what was obviously an en suite bathroom.

"You'll find a new toothbrush in there. Help yourself," said Gerard, as he took a pack of condoms and a tube of lubricant from inside the nightstand and placed them on top with a disconcertingly purposeful air.

Suffering from an acute attack of nerves Kimble took refuge in the bathroom, making use of the facilities while he was there. Going back into the bedroom he discovered Gerard had already stripped down to his shorts. Far too nervous to enjoy the view, Kimble froze.

Half-turning, Gerard offered him a quick, reassuring smile, which was all the more comforting because he looked as nervous as Kimble felt. Without saying anything, the deputy left the room.

Left alone with his thoughts, Kimble stood staring at the bed. It didn't look quite so big as it had when he'd first entered the room. In fact, the more he looked at it, the more he'd swear that it was shrinking before his very eyes.

He was going to have sex with Sam Gerard on that bed.

He tried to swallow and found that he couldn't, breathing required all his concentration.

Pausing in the doorway, Gerard took one look at Kimble, who was still fully dressed and obviously apprehensive as he stared at the bed, and felt a jolt of disappointment and loss strong enough to rock him. But he permitted none of that to show as he padded over to where the other man stood.

"If you've changed your mind it's OK, Richard," he said, sounding very much in control of the situation. "We don't have to do a thing. Let me dress and I'll fix us some fresh coffee."

Kimble gave a small start of surprise. Turning, his breath caught when he saw that Gerard was now completely naked and gloriously erect. Some people might not consider him a handsome man, but he was certainly beautiful now. The longing to touch him was so acute it was a physical ache.

"Don't you dare dress," he managed to croak. "I lost my nerve for a moment, that's all. My god, you look - " His hands parted in an inadequate attempt to express himself. Then they were busy at his clothing, dragging and pulling and yanking, with scant regard for catches and buttons and zippers. And all the time Gerard, magnificently naked, stood watching him through unfathomable eyes.

By this stage Kimble was in no state to appreciate that far from coming closer Gerard had retreated back against the farthest wall, and that he was shaking slightly.

Finally naked in a sea of discarded clothing, Kimble padded toward Gerard. Close enough to share body warmth, he stopped, gave an audible swallow and retreated a couple of paces.

A shudder ran through Gerard, whose hands were already behind him; they flattened out against the wall, the tips of his fingers curving, as if seeking support. "Is there a problem, Richard?" His voice was slow and calm, gentling potential panic, but he was breathing from deep in his belly, inhalations fluttering the delicate-looking skin; everything about him spoke of an iron control.

"Yes. No. Jesus, I don't know," Kimble grated, standing slightly hunched by this time. The wait was killing him. "I can't think of anything but how fantastic you look and I want - But it's been a really long time for me and if - I won't be able to hold out for - I want this to be good for you," he finished, his voice shaking with a desperation it was beyond him to hide.

Then it all became too much, his hands going to his cock. But Gerard was already there, whatever Kimble had intended to say next lost in the depths of the other man's mouth. A work-scarred hand curved around his dick, pumping him as if Sam had been doing this for years and Sam's other hand -

His knees buckling, wholly reliant on Gerard's strength, Kimble lost the ability for thought as he gave himself up to the other man, coming with a snarl of sound closer to pain than pleasure as his head sank onto a broad, freckled shoulder. Sucking in the scent and taste of Sam Gerard he just - only just - stopped himself from biting down, his hands tightening on the other man's torso.

Shaking and unsteady and wishing fiercely that he could remember more about it, he drank in the scent of

Gerard's skin as the fever in his blood gradually calmed. A broad hand was rubbing up and down his back, the other at the nape of his neck. The ability to think slowly returning, Kimble's breathing steadied.

Easing away, but ensuring he still remained within the loose circle of Gerard's arm, he gave a lopsided smile. "Thanks," he said with genuine gratitude. "I needed that."

"You sure did," agreed Gerard.

"And you made it so easy for me, Sam. Sweet."

"That's me," returned Gerard, but the flippancy sounded false. He began to lick his fingers clean, a distracted look on his face.

Kimble caught hold of his hand. "You've only got my word for it that I test clean."

"Don't be dumb, Richard." While Gerard's voice was kind, a certain tension around his eyes and the over-controlled way he was breathing betrayed what this delay was costing him.

Kimble glanced down at the arrogantly demanding cock, then settled his palm over it, feeling Gerard's involuntary buck of response. "Will my hand be enough or would you rather have my mouth?" he asked, matter-of-fact because Sam had waited to the point of pain.

"Later, when I can appreciate it," said Gerard, his voice tight with the effort not to thrust.

One hand resting lightly on Kimble's shoulder, he kissed him once - not with possession, or urgency, but with a tenderness that was all the more remarkable given his intense arousal.

"Just hold me," he requested gruffly. He eased around until his back was supported by the doctor's chest.

Kimble changed his stance slightly. His feet banding Gerard's, his arms encircled the other man's torso, drawing Sam back so that they were plastered together, that glorious ass twitching against his lax genitals. Murmuring deep in his throat as he drew them impossibly closer, marvelling at the intense intimacy of the experience, he began to work Gerard's dick while kissing the side of his neck and nipping his earlobe. But something was missing. He wanted to see Sam's face when he came.

Glancing around the unfamiliar room, Kimble smiled his satisfaction when he saw what he wanted. Perfect.

Moving with care, he walked them a couple of paces so they faced the mirror that hung over the radiator.

"Beautiful," he breathed appreciatively, squeezing the head of Gerard's cock. "Give it to me," he commanded in a rumbling growl.

Kimble's arms tightened around the lean torso, his gaze locked on the other man's nakedly revealing face as Gerard lost the ability to think about anything but the pleasure building in him. Just before he came, he took one of Kimble's hands and set it over his heart, holding it there as, his mouth parting, he came with the softest of sounds.

Kimble continued to support the other man, nuzzling and kissing the sweat-dewed skin until he judged Gerard to be in any state to hear him.

"I always knew you were a fit guy but this is a seriously impressive heartbeat, deputy. Let's see how long it takes you to recover," he said, rubbing his chin on a sun-freckled shoulder. The buttocks pressed against his genitals flexed in the most distracting way.

"I have to keep fit for the job," dismissed Gerard, speech sounding something of an effort. In the mirror his softened mouth was smiling, all the lines of his face relaxed.

Kimble's snort ruffled the disordered black hair. "That's not the kind of recovery I had in mind. Why don't you settle down on the bed so I can take your pulse." All trace of tension gone, the teasing note was back in his voice.

Unable to resist any longer, his flat-palmed hand was exploring the smooth-skinned torso. A large man with muscle and bone set close under the skin, Sam was all clean, lean lines and contained power. Sparsely haired, there was just the right amount between the beautiful nipples Kimble intended to explore later.

"You'll have to tell me what you like," he added.

Turning, Gerard saw the sparkle in the hazel eyes and felt an immense satisfaction. If this was the only chance he ever had, at least he had made Richard look like this once.

"You're the expert in biology. Experiment, Richard." At the expression which crossed the doctor's face, Gerard felt as if some invisible hand had just caressed his entire body at the same time. Making himself comfortable on the bed, he extended his wrist.

Grinning, Kimble shook his head. "That's not the most efficient place to take a pulse, Sam."

"Then where - ?" Alerted by the doctor's mischievous look, Gerard fell silent. "Am I gonna like this next part?" he inquired suspiciously.

"I hope so," said Kimble, meaning every word.

"We'll soon find out," said Gerard, his speculative gaze on the other man's groin.

"If you don't like something, say so, OK?" said Kimble.

Gerard gave him a patient look.

"So I'm nervous," snapped Kimble, betrayed into telling the unvarnished truth again. "Plus you - " His hands parted. "It's like being a kid let loose in a toy store. I can't decide where to start playing first."

"Take too long and you might find I'm the one taking your pulse," Gerard told him. "And no, I don't have a problem with you taking the lead here," he anticipated.

Laughing, Kimble swooped to kiss him once, hard, on the mouth. "Know all."

The tip of Gerard's tongue flicked out to wet his slightly swollen lower lip. "Like you said, there's a freedom

in handing over the reins - when there's trust."

Kimble flicked a fingertip across Gerard's nose, a decided wobble to his tender smile. Moving with great deliberation, so Gerard had plenty of time to make his wishes plain if he didn't want this, Kimble applied a generous quantity of lubricant to his fingers, his eyes never leaving the other man's face. He watched as Gerard's pupils grew wider, making his eyes seem black. The seductive mouth parted and with a fierce satisfaction he realized Gerard's breathing had accelerated.

"How do you want me?" Gerard asked, his voice a broken croak of sound.

"Now there's a tempting offer. You just settle down however's most comfortable for you. I can play quite happily whichever way you're facing."

"While I do what?" enquired Gerard dryly, leaning up over him with what might have seemed disconcerting speed but for the fact it was devoid of threat.

For a couple of seconds the doctor's expression was completely open. "Whatever you like, Sam," he said simply. "We can do whatever you want." Unable to resist those parted lips any longer, he initiated their next kiss.

Urgency abated, they were achingly careful with each other, both aware of the other's restraint, but yet to feel confident enough to discuss it.

It was some time before Gerard appreciated quite how naturally their bodies seemed to adjust to one another. Sprawled half on the bed, half cushioned by Kimble's body, his teeth grazed the nipple he had teased erect, his large hands covering the doctor's rump, loosely holding their lower bodies together. Chest hair tickled his ribcage and he tweaked a whorl with his index finger, amused by the way it curled around the tip.

"You want to share the joke?" Kimble enquired lazily.

"It's just the novelty of having a lover with more body hair than me," Gerard said.

"Too much?"

"Just right," Gerard told him with conviction.

His hand slid down the muscular torso to feel the springy pubic curls that highlighted the temptation of the genitals. Richard's body was beautiful. Strong and powerful, the defined biceps set off the line of shoulder and throat, drew the eye to the narrowness of the flanks and the splendor of his ass. The puckered skin at his side was a reminder of the injury he had sustained in the train crash - which had led, indirectly, to this moment. In a burst of gratitude Gerard twisted so he could kiss the spot.

"You wait your turn," Kimble told him.

"OK," said Gerard obediently.

Making no attempt to resist, he smiled as Kimble straddled him, enjoying the sensation of being pinned. His arms were raised above his head, a skilled mouth tasting him, licking the crease at his elbow, causing pinprick discomfort as the hair at his armpit was tweaked between those neat white teeth. Richard either had good genes or a good dentist. Maybe both, he thought hazily, finding it increasingly difficult to think under the sensory input he was experiencing. His breathing stuttered as his nipples were nipped and tweaked and licked and sucked, his head going back, mouth parting. Then those wonderful lips settled over his belly and blew against it.

"Jesus Christ!"

Convulsing, Gerard's knee almost caught the other man in the balls.

"That was close," muttered Kimble when they had finally righted themselves, propped together for support. He waved away the abject apology from his abashed companion, but gave a wicked grin. "Is there anything else I shouldn't blow on?"

"Not a thing," Gerard assured him.

"Excellent."

"I suppose you're not ticklish?"

"Who me? Can you see what I did with the lubricant?"

Successfully diverted, Gerard rolled onto his belly to retrieve it. Lying at full stretch, he shivered when a wet tongue explored the top of his buttocks, just above the cleft, the hands on his flanks holding him in place.

"You have a truly gorgeous butt," Kimble muttered, just before he began to mouth the center of the left cheek. "Too damn tempting for words."

By the time he thought to take the lubricant from Gerard, his companion had been making incoherent sounds for some time.

"You ever had a prostate massage?" asked Kimble.

The dark head turned, tolerant amusement replacing sensual abandon. "I'm forty-six years old, Richard."

"Then you know you're in for a good time."

"An inkling," Gerard acknowledged, wondering that Kimble hadn't recognized the effect he was having on him just by being here.

"Slide on to your side and curve up one leg. I want to be able to see your face so I know everything's OK. All right?"

"Now he asks me," groaned Gerard, before he reached behind him, blindly patting the first available portion of his lover he could reach.

Kimble allowed a lubricant slick finger to slide down the cleft of Gerard's ass, teasing the hairs there before

he began to circle the anus, making the muscle twitch responsively. Gently easing into Gerard's body, he paused when he felt the tiny pulse as the ring of muscle closed around his fingertip.

His eyes wide, it was obvious Gerard's concentration was wholly locked to this experience. Missing none of the small changes in expression, Kimble paused, then slowly withdrew and reached for more lubricant. A tender expression on his face, he gently nuzzled the thin-fleshed jawline.

"We know my only experience is from my college days. Is this your first? With a guy, I mean?"

There was a small silence, then Gerard softly exhaled, a faint, wry smile on his face as he tweaked a lock of Kimble's hair with his index finger. "Yeah," he admitted, his tone inviting the other man to share the joke. "Is that a problem?" he added quizzically.

Kimble couldn't have hidden his atavistic satisfaction to save his life.

"Well, I guess that answers that one," murmured Gerard, handing his lover the lubricant again.

 

Sprawled face-down in the wreck of the bed, Gerard's hand moved blindly to pat the other man's belly. Misjudging the angle of their respective bodies, his palm settled over Kimble's now lax genitals. A hand was caressing the nape of his neck, fingers sifting through his hair. In the distance he was conscious of the velvety rumble of Richard's voice. Concentrating, he began to make sense of what it was saying.

"No, I'm suffering the torments of the damned. Get real, Richard," he mumbled, but it spurred him to roll onto his back, before his eyes shot open. "Jeez, I'm one selfish son-of-a-bitch. What do you need?" Propped up on one elbow, the sticky laxness beneath his palm and the smug satisfaction on Kimble's face gave him his answer.

"I was that good, huh?" said Gerard, with no doubt at all in his voice.

"Oh yeah," said Kimble fervently, begrudging him none of his triumph. He was feeling pretty damn triumphant himself. Not least because he'd found the control not to fuck the other man. It was too soon. Too fast. He wasn't about to do anything that might scare Sam off. But he wished he knew if Sam wanted to fuck him. All he needed was a hint.

Studying his lover's glowing face, it occurred to Gerard that if Kimble could produce this effect with a simple prostate massage he couldn't wait until - if - they ever fucked. The thought of being fucked by Richard Kimble almost made him groan with anticipation but Richard must be the one to make the first move. Ridiculous, but he was terrified at the thought of scaring Richard off. He glanced up as a hand rubbed the nape of his neck.

"I'm glad it was OK."

Recognizing the ploy, Gerard's smile lit his entire face. "You don't need to fish for compliments. That was really something."

"I know," Kimble acknowledged, with no attempt at modesty. Determined that Gerard's first time with a male partner should be one he would never forget, he had lavished every skill and touch he could think of on the other man. Taking his time, he had made Sam writhe with pleasure before he finally allowed him to come. And when Sam had shouted out his name... Picking up the limp hand cradling his dick, he nuzzled the palm, shaken by pulses of emotion he was afraid to examine too closely.

"Sam, I have to know. Do you want me to leave now?" he asked, because he couldn't stand the uncertainty any longer.

"I don't ever want you to go." Unpremeditated and unguarded, the words sat there. Hearing what he had let slip, Gerard went still, an aching vulnerability in his eyes and around his mouth.

"That's lucky." While Kimble's tone was light, the underlying truth of it was in his eyes as his fingers curled around Gerard's. "I think this could be - "

"Hey, Richard, if you're gonna give a speech better suited to 'Love Story' you're outta here. Clear?" growled Gerard, surging up to loom over him. But he was glowing with happiness.

Kimble nipped the tip of one of the broad fingers. "You talk tough, but I'm not convinced a skinny guy like you could move me," he murmured provocatively.

Gerard poked his companion's muscular belly. "Flab," he dismissed.

By the time their mock-wrestling match was over the bed was a wreck and they were weak with laughter.

"I need to piss," said Gerard, righting himself only with some effort. "As this is partly your fault, you want to see if you can fix this bed back to something we can sleep in. You'll find a warmer comforter in the chest if you want one. Clean sheets are in that cupboard down the hall."

"How come I get to do all the work?" Kimble demanded. Sitting up, he fell silent as he enjoyed the view as Sam left the bed and paused to stretch the kinks in his back.

Gerard turned and the sweetness in the sleepy smile directed at him made Kimble's eyes prickle in the most ridiculous way.

"You're the one who wore me out," Gerard pointed out before he ambled on his way, whistling out of tune.

 

Having been watching the man beside him sleep for some time, Kimble hardened his heart and poked Gerard awake.

"Wassamatter?" Sticky-eyed and dopey looking, Gerard blinked up at him, a front portion of his hair sticking up on end, beard shadow darkening his jaw.

"Didn't you have a meeting first thing this morning?"

Gerard groaned. "Richard, it's Saturday."

"But you told me - " A large hand was placed over his mouth to silence him.

"I remember. I lied. Get used to it."

Kimble nudged the hand from his mouth but kept hold of it. "Why, are you going to make a habit of lying to me?" he asked mildly.

More wakeful by the second, Gerard propped himself up on one elbow. "I was nervous and trying to save face if you turned me down," he said gruffly. "I won't lie to you again," he added. While the promise was made without elaboration, Kimble believed him implicitly.

He nodded. "That's OK then." He settled back down, wriggling to get comfortable against the curve of the other man's back. "I won't either."

Gerard rubbed his nose on the pillow. "It never occurred to me that you would," he said wryly, and smiled when he felt the mouth that nuzzled the back of his neck.

"Thanks, Sam."

"Go to sleep, Richard. But first you can put your hand back on - Yeah, just there," he mumbled, before he slid back into sleep.

Breathing in the scent of him, Kimble dozed with a drowsy contentment, marvelling at the rightness of it.

 

"What?" demanded Gerard, becoming aware that he was under large-eyed surveillance.

"You promised me breakfast," accused Kimble mournfully. He scratched the small of his back in a comfortable sort of a way, arching with pleasure when Gerard moved in to rub it for him. "Oh yeah. You do have the touch."

"So I've been told."

"If not any food."

"Quit complaining. I'm giving you breakfast," said Gerard, adding milk to the other man's coffee.

"And the food is where?"

"Boy, you don't give up, do you. Though I guess I already knew that. At the convenience store two blocks away. By the time they get round to delivering we'd be ready for the Thanksgiving turkey. Is anything wrong?" Gerard added in a different tone.

Blinking, Kimble refocused, recognized the concern on Gerard's face and gave him a reassuring smile. "Nothing. I was just wondering how you knew how I take my coffee. Unless you like yours the same way. But you don't," he realized when he saw Gerard add two sugars to his black coffee. "How did you know how I take mine, Sam?"

"There's no mystery." Gerard wrapped his broad fingers around the mug he was holding and made himself more comfortable where he stood propped against the edge of the counter, to the side of where Kimble sat. "I remember all kinds of details that I picked up from the files we maintained on you. Shoe size, 12. Favorite deli was Geraldos. Voted the guy most likely to become President of the United States. Plays squash, basketball, golf, pool and poker. You can't carry a tune to save your life and you've lost your tonsils, appendix and when you were fourteen you broke your right arm. You - "

"Whoa," protested Kimble, laughing. "You really do have a good memory for trivia. I guess that kind of detailed build-up of knowledge helps you to catch up with escaped prisoners." His tone was as relaxed as before, the topic one he was obviously comfortable talking about.

"We never know what might help," Gerard allowed.

Kimble gave him a thoughtful look. "There can't be much you don't know about me, while I know zilch about you." He patted Gerard's groin. "Well, almost zilch."

Gerard looked down at himself. "Are you calling my dick 'almost zilch'?" he inquired with mock-affront.

"Never," said Kimble.

The conviction in his voice made Gerard fidget where he stood, but he made no attempt to move from Kimble's reach, absently covering the hand resting over him for a moment before he moved to perch on a high stool beside the other man.

"I wonder if you and I have anything in common," mused Kimble.

"Apart from sex?" inquired Gerard.

Kimble's admonitory glare was doomed to failure. "It's a pretty good start," he allowed, his attention drawn to the soft denim of the other man's jeans, the creases directing the attention to Gerard's groin.

"Earth to Richard."

He gave Gerard a look of glaze-eyed enquiry. "What?"

"If you're going to keep looking that hungry, I guess I'm going to have to feed you."

"What do you have in mind?"

Gerard gave a warm chuckle. "Some recovery time," he said realistically.

Kimble looked pitying.

"Of course, if you really want to impress me go right ahead," invited Gerard blandly, calling his bluff.

"Maybe later," back-pedalled Kimble.

"Right," scoffed Gerard, but with so much affection that Kimble had to kiss him again.

Sitting back in his seat again, Kimble patted Gerard's lean thigh, remembering the strength hinted at the previous night. "I have some catching up to do. Even deputy marshals must have some guilty secrets. Do you eat in bed?"

Laughter creases fanned down Gerard's face. "Are we talking food here?"

"Oh very smart. You're not going to make it easy for me, are you?"

"You want it, you work for it."

"I can see this is going to take a while. We may as well get comfortable. I need more coffee."

Gerard picked up the pot and gestured for Kimble to precede him into the living room. Looking amused, he settled himself at one end of the dark red sofa, poured them some coffee and set his bare feet on the low table in front of him, his fingers linked over his flat belly.

"Ask away," he invited. When no response was forthcoming, he gave the man standing above him a look of enquiry. "What is it?"

Kimble shook his head. This morning his hair was still glossy, but small spikes were sticking up and he hadn't shaved; wearing a set of Gerard's workout clothes that had seen better days, he looked sleek and content. Like a guy who had got some, thought Gerard, still having difficulty in crediting that he had Richard Kimble standing in his living room, eyeing his groin like a hungry cat a canary. The fact Richard wasn't aware of what he was doing made it even more flattering.

"It's nothing," said Kimble vaguely.

"It sure looks like something. You want to talk about it?"

Kimble grimaced. "I just - I wasn't expecting this, you know?"

Smiling faintly, Gerard nodded, his face warm with understanding.

"Of course you know. Ignore me. It's been a long, long time since - " Parting his hands, Kimble shrugged, abandoned what he had been saying and stretched out along the sofa. His head propped on the arm, the soles of his bare feet rested against Gerard's thigh in the unthinking intimacy more commonly seen in long-term lovers. Except they weren't. Yet, he reminded himself. Sipping his coffee, his considering gaze remained on his companion's profile. Tracing the curve of cheek and jawline, the slightly dry lips and those amazing eyelashes, the jut of the eyebrows and the near black of the hair. It was only when he realized Gerard was fidgeting slightly that he appreciated that he might be making the other man uneasy.

"Do you want to go first?" he asked.

Gerard raised his eyebrows. "Can I have an interpreter here?"

"Do you want to ask me ten questions first? Don't look so superior - there must be something about me that you want to know." While Kimble tried to keep it light, Gerard's expression immediately softened.

"Plenty," he allowed. "No, you go first. I suppose you expect honest answers?"

Kimble nudged him with his foot. "Damn right I do. It wouldn't occur to me that you'd lie," he realized, embarrassing the other man without even trying. "What's your favorite color?" he added, taking pity on Gerard.

"Why? You going to take up interior design?"

"Uh uh. I get to ask the questions," grinned Kimble. "Favorite color?"

"Red," said Gerard promptly.

"Favorite football team?"

"The Bears, of course."

"Best baseball player in the world."

"Babe Ruth."

"Women?" slid in Kimble.

"I'm in favor of them," Gerard assured him, straight-faced.

Kimble kicked him but had the sense to abandon that line of questioning. "Preferred hair color."

Gerard swooped across the space between them to finger Kimble's hair consideringly. "Brown with gray flecks," he said as he returned to his corner of the sofa.

Kimble snorted. "What a romantic." But the compliment, back-handed as it had been, still brought a sparkle to his eyes. "OK, fifth question. Favorite car."

"Too easy," dismissed Gerard. "A Ferrari. Probably the 456 GT model."

"Maybe one day," consoled Kimble, with no defense against the other man's unabashedly wistful look as he thought about his dream car.

Gerard gave a snort of derision. "On a deputy marshal's salary? Not in this lifetime."

"What about food?"

"Is that a supposedly subtle hint that you're hungry?" enquired Gerard with suspicion.

"No point," returned Kimble cheerfully. "Subtlety would be wasted on you. Food?"

"Oh, my pay stretches to that," Gerard assured him.

Tucking his legs under him, Kimble knelt beside him on the sofa cushions and pushed up the gray tee shirt Gerard was wearing, trying to find an inch of flesh to pinch between his finger and thumb over the lightly muscled ribs. The skin was quite pale, and set close to the bone, stretching over muscle and sinews which played under the skin as Gerard moved. Kimble patted the flat belly in parting.

"From the look of you your favorite food must be grapefruit."

Gerard wrinkled his nose. "Never going to happen. I loathe it. Steak."

Kimble groaned. "A Texan liking steak. That's such a cliché," he protested.

"If you were hoping for originality you've come to the wrong place," Gerard told him, giving an untroubled grin.

"Oh, I knew that," returned Kimble outrageously, evading the hand that floated a mock-punch at his jaw. "Favorite drink. And don't say milk."

"Cold beer."

"Boy, you had to think about that for a whole nano-second," mocked Kimble.

"Milk, cold beer." Gerard's large hands were cupped, imitating scales as he weighed up his choice.

"It's a toughie," Kimble conceded. Stretching out again, he ran his foot along a denim-covered thigh. As he had hoped, Gerard captured it and began an absent cupping and recupping, his thumb stroking the veins along the side of his foot. "All right, seventh in-depth and probing question. Favorite hobby?"

"Hobby?" echoed Gerard with disdain. "You mean like stamp collecting?"

"You paint," Kimble reminded him.

Avoiding a glib response, Gerard responded to the unvoiced question, staring into the middle distance. "That's more of a necessity at times," he told the wall. "An escape valve, and a pleasure at other times. I'm not big on sitting still as a rule."

"I think I would have put money on that," Kimble conceded. "I play the drums."

Gerard's head turned. "That wasn't on your file."

"Damn, then I'm losing what little mystery I have left," joked Kimble, taking refuge in flippancy because they seemed to be moving on at a far faster rate than he had been prepared for.

Gerard patted the foot he was caressing. "I think I have a way to go yet," he comforted.

"So what's your favorite hobby?" pursued Kimble.

"Are you always this persistent?" complained Gerard mildly.

The doctor gave a splutter of laughter. "Sam Gerard is accusing me of persistence?"

"I guess it is kind of ironic," Gerard allowed after a moment, but he wasn't smiling now.

"No more than the fact you and I have become lovers," Kimble pointed out, before he added, "Favorite hobby." Conscious of being under a steady-eyed survey, his hand went to his collar only to discover he was wearing a loose-necked sweatshirt.

"Sex," said Gerard in a voice like raw silk.

Kimble gave an audible swallow. "Now?"

"Is my favorite hobby," explained Gerard, his expression all innocence.

"Why, you - " Kimble tossed a cushion at him, batting it away when it was returned with a speedy precision. "You call sex a hobby?"

"I prefer to enjoy it rather than analyze its place in my life. It's the most fun way I know to relax. So how did I do?"

"At sex?" returned Kimble.

Gerard found it difficult to tear his gaze away from the other man's lower lip. "Ah, now there I hoped I'd been kind of outstanding. No, I was talking about your questions. You must have had your ten by now."

"I've lost count," Kimble admitted. "OK, it's your turn. Ask away." Hands folded in his lap, he wore an untrustworthy expression.

Gerard resisted the urge to kiss him. "Why did you become a doctor?"

Taken aback by the intimacy of the question so casually asked, Kimble blinked. "Wow. I was expecting to be asked my favorite movie. What's yours?"

"Uh uh." Gerard shook his head firmly. "You've lost your chance. That will just have to stay a mystery. Why surgery in particular?"

Sliding along the sofa so he was closer to Gerard, Kimble tucked his legs under him to sit cross-legged. Running one finger up and down Gerard's shoulder, he caught hold of a small thread and began to pull.

"Ah," he said, as the bottom of the short sleeve unravelled.

"Luckily I'm better made," said Gerard, one hand absently running up and down his companion's thigh.

Kimble caught hold of his hand and seemed to forget to let go. "You're beautiful," he said gruffly, and because he was sincere it didn't occur to him to check how the other man took the announcement.

Fidgeting on the cushion, Gerard shot him a look, realized he was sincere, felt heat creep under his skin and ended up tucking an arm around Kimble's shoulders. "Not that you're biased."

"Who, me?" Kimble circled the other man's palm in an absent-minded way. "I always wanted to be a surgeon. I seemed to miss out on the wanting to be an engine driver stage. Maybe I saw Dr Kildare at an impressionable age," he shrugged. "The work I do makes a difference. I'm good, so sometimes I can succeed where someone else couldn't. And the technological changes which are happening mean I'm learning all the time. But basically I just like making people well," he said simply.

There was a gentle set to Gerard's face. "I think I guessed that, Richard." He lightly kissed the side of Kimble's jaw, then sat back to cup the bare foot closest to him again.

"I guess it is kind of obvious," Kimble allowed. "Why did you become a deputy marshal?"

"I like to see bad people brought to justice. And to see individuals working together for the common good. But while I hate injustice, I hate being stuck behind a desk even more," Gerard admitted, his wry look inviting

Kimble to share the joke.

"I could have put money on that," he mused. "You do good work, Sam."

For a moment Gerard's unguarded face was full of a shy pleasure, and pride in his work. "Coming from you that means a lot. Have we finished with the questions?" he added on a more flippant note, as if to cover his lapse.

"Not for the foreseeable future. Have you ever been married? If not, why not."

"Answer in two hundred words or less, do not write on the back of the page," completed Gerard dryly. "I was married for twelve years. We lived in Houston. My wife asked for a divorce eight years ago. There was no one else involved, we'd just - We shared a house, the bills and sometimes a bed, but we'd stopped communicating a long time before that. It was kind of sad that it didn't matter more."

Kimble nodded. "That must have been about the time you got the promotion to come to Chicago." It was then that he was reminded of just how severe those warm eyes could look.

"Don't get cute, Richard," advised Gerard, an edge to his voice before he grimaced, shrugged and relaxed to a degree.

Kimble exhaled softly. "It's none of my business," he accepted.

Gerard turned to meet his gaze, pulling a wry face seconds later. "It seems to me that it might be. I just forgot that doctors are trained observers too. No one likes to be caught out. You guessed it. I cut and ran. I'm used to succeeding in what I do. For a time it really hurt. I was too busy working to see there was anything wrong until it was way too late."

"It's good that it mattered," Kimble said quietly.

Gerard flicked him a look. "I guess," he said. "At least we'd never had kids."

"Did you want them?"

"No, neither of us did. How about you and Helen?"

"The same," said Kimble. "We were so happy as we were we didn't want to risk losing it. I've never regretted that decision. That makes me sound kind of selfish, doesn't it."

"You selfish? Get real, Richard. Still, at least we've got no kids in common."

"We've got more than that," Kimble told him, his lopsided grin reappearing. "Of those questions I asked you, eight of the answers you gave were the same that I would have made."

"Eight? So sex isn't your favorite hobby," Gerard mused, deadpan.

Kimble uncurled one leg to kick him and found his foot caught and tickled. Lashing out in uncontrollable reflex, he curled into an incoherent ball, begging for mercy within a pitifully short space of time.

"Not ticklish, huh?" said Gerard, giving him a quizzical look.

"I didn't actually say that. OK, I lied by omission," confessed Kimble as he resettled himself next to Gerard, one leg hooked over the other man's. "Only it's kind of embarrassing to admit that you're ticklish."

"True," Gerard conceded. "It's lucky I have no weaknesses."

Kimble's eyes widened. "Excuse me? So when I blew on your belly last night and you - "

"Shock," interrupted Gerard. He sounded so authoritative that he almost got away with it.

"Right." His smile fading, Kimble cocked his head, worrying his lower lip between his finger and thumb.

"What now?" asked Gerard, the resignation in his voice negated by the warmth in his eyes.

"Does anything shock you any more, Sam?" His expression intent, it was clear the answer was important to Kimble.

Gerard stared out into the room. "People do it to me all the time. Even now I can be shocked by cruelty - and surprised by kindness. It's what makes life so interesting. People are rarely as predictable as we think they are. Why are you working at Cook County now?"

"How did you know I was?"

Gerard avoided the other man's gaze. "I was just keeping a friendly eye on you. You deserved a break."

Kimble tensed, his chin lifting, an edge to the warm depths of his voice as he eased away from the circle of Gerard's arm. "You felt sorry for me?"

Gerard allowed that possibility no time to fester. "Hell, no. Angry on your behalf. You got screwed by the system and I was a part of that. It didn't make me feel good. And, in case you hadn't realized, I like to feel good."

"Trust me, you do," Kimble assured him fervently, before his smile faded. "I never blamed you for what happened, Sam. You were just doing your job. More than your job - or I wouldn't be here now. I moved to County because there were too many memories at Memorial," he added. "I thought about leaving Chicago altogether for a while but despite the memories I couldn't do it."

"I'm glad." Gerard's small brisk nod reinforced that.

"Me, too," said Kimble.

Silent for several seconds, their gazes locked.

"So what do you make of all this?" Gerard's hand gestured between them.

Kimble thought for a while, then began to laugh. "It has to be the craziest thing I've ever done, but it feels too good to question. You?"

"Make that another thing we have in common," said Gerard, his voice ultra-dry. "But crazy is good. I told you, reality is what we make it."

Kimble groaned, his forehead dropping onto Gerard's shoulder for a moment. "Oh god. Are you one of those people who says I told you so?"

"Only when I'm certain my dick is safe from attack," said Gerard, covering Kimble's hand where it rested over him in an absent-mindedly proprietorial manner.

Only then seeming to realize what he had been doing, Kimble gave the area a valedictory pat and looked slightly abashed. "You feel good, Sam."

Gerard shook his head at him, smiling broadly. "You want to eat? Food," he added.

"Oh yeah." Kimble sat up. "I'm starving."

"Me, too. There's money in my wallet and a convenience store down the road," Gerard reminded his companion.

"I can't believe you haven't got any food in."

Gerard gave him a patient look. "I went to that party for sex with a stranger, not to set up home. And don't give me that look. You had the same idea."

Kimble pulled on his earlobe, his mouth quirking. "I hate to disillusion you, but I went as an escort for Kathy. Not everyone at that party was gay," he added when he recognized Gerard's bemused look.

"I knew that," said Gerard quickly.

Kimble gave him an affectionate grin. "But you didn't believe it."

"No," admitted Gerard ruefully. "Not that I'm complaining how things worked out."

"Me neither," said Kimble immediately. "Except for the lack of breakfast, of course."

Gerard groaned. "I surrender. We'll shop."

"We?"

"Well I'm certainly not going to suffer alone," Gerard retorted. "Besides, I don't know what you like to eat. Oh god, not more questions and answers," he said immediately afterwards.

Kimble grinned. "Don't give me that. If you'd hated it that much you wouldn't have done it."

"You're right," Gerard conceded.

"I often am," Kimble said immodestly.

 

Wearing evening shoes with the sweatpants and tee shirt he had borrowed from Gerard, Kimble insisted they stop off at the first men's store they passed so he could buy a change of clothing.

"Everyone will take one look at me and know I've stayed the night," he told his amused looking companion.

"And this bothers you because - ?"

Kimble thought about it. "You could have a point. But now we're here I'll get some stuff anyway. If you weren't so skinny I would have been able to wear your jeans."

"You did," Gerard pointed out, but his mouth was quivering at the memory.

Kimble gave him a dark look. "You mean I got them fastened. I just daren't move." Then he, too, was laughing. Pausing beside a rack of shirts, he held up a shirt with a simple button-down collar in a shade of the richest crimson. "What's your collar size?"

Lazily amused, Gerard told him. "I've always wanted to be a kept man. Though a Ferrari would be better." He added a deep blue and mid-green shirt to the pile of clothing Kimble was acquiring.

"These are the wrong size," Kimble pointed out.

"Not for you they're not."

 

Comfortably dressed in his new clothes and Nike trainers and with innumerable bags left in Gerard's car, they had a late breakfast in the diner inside the convenience store. Sitting closer than was necessary, they talked of inconsequentials, unaware of the assumptions implicit in much of what they were discussing. As they finished their coffee, Kimble told Gerard about the small three bedroomed house he had purchased in Chatham.

"I wanted to move as far away from my old apartment as I could. Not just geographically, you know? It's the right side of town for work and a couple of friends from Cook County live nearby. The place needs a lot of work doing to it. I've never given it a fair chance since I moved in. I seem to spend most of my time at work."

"Oh, I know that scenario," Gerard agreed. "You want any more coffee?"

"I'm done," said Kimble, getting to his feet.

"Then grab that trolley," instructed Gerard as they strolled out of the diner area. "Having seen how much you can eat, I best stock up."

Squabbling amicably about each other's taste in food, they started to go up and down the aisles. While there were only two of them and one and a half days of the weekend left, they still managed to fill the trolley to overflowing.

Gerard gave the steak he didn't remember selecting a quizzical look and raised his eyebrows in question.

"That was one of the eight questions we had in common. I'm a cliché too," Kimble said wryly.

"You'll be wanting apple-pie like mother used to bake next," grinned Gerard.

"It's under the steak," Kimble admitted.

"Definitely no hope for us," said Gerard, inconspicuously dropping a container of lubricant into the trolley.

Kimble cleared his throat and Gerard noticed that there were already two packs there.

"It can't hurt to stock up," Kimble said defensively.

"Not at all," agreed Gerard mildly.

At the check-out they wordlessly fell into a pattern, Gerard unpacking the trolley while Kimble waited to repack it at the other end. Having performed his part, Gerard looked up to find Kimble ignoring the groceries piling up to smile at him; he looked totally and unselfconsciously happy. Suspecting he was wearing an equally sappy grin, it was several seconds before Gerard appreciated that the boy on the cash register was patiently waiting for him to hand over his credit card.

He missed being part of a couple; missed having someone to look up and smile at. Not that he and Julie had been this in tune for years - if they ever had, he conceded. He'd make sure he did better this time - if he was given the chance.

 

Gerard woke in the middle of the night to the pleasure of feeling Richard Kimble's mouth on his nipple and one of those skilled hands on his dick. With a soft groan he drew the other man's head up so he could draw that sinfully tempting lower lip out between his teeth, sucking on it. Then, making his mouth his guide, he set about charting the relatively unexplored territory that was his lover's body.

"Sam?"

"You've had your fun. It's my turn," he said simply.

Sucking on the prominent adam's apple, he lapped at the base of the strong throat, his tongue sweeping down to pause over the pectoral muscles. Grazing the brownish pink nipples erect, he teased them until Kimble moved beneath him, making a guttural sound.

"Don't distract me," he instructed, holding the doctor's wrists at his sides.

His broad tongue licked down the sternum, circling the navel before delving in to explore the whorled intricacies of flesh. Releasing Kimble's wrists, his large hands delicately teased pleasure zones the other man had forgotten he possessed.

Rumbling incoherencies escaped Kimble as, without meaning to, he gave himself up to the man seemingly intoxicated on him. He heard himself burble without being able to do a thing to stop it when Gerard sucked the tender flesh at the base of his elbow - a sob of protest escaping him when Sam moved on. But abandonment was the last thing on Gerard's mind.

Massaging the ball of Kimble's left foot, he nipped and sucked at the side of his feet, his tongue sweeping up a shapely leg as Kimble bucked and groaned. Begging Gerard not to stop, he wasn't sure if his heart could take it if Sam carried on.

Gerard raised his head, a devilish quality in the look he gave his lover. "You'll survive. Where did I get to?" he added, just before his large hands settled over Kimble's hipbones, pinning him to the bed. His mouth hovered over the bobbing head of his lover's cock before, with great deliberation, he gently breathed over it.

His head going back, a long groan of sound escaped Kimble. "Oh god. You are going to kill me."

"You'll die happy," Gerard assured him callously.

Kimble ran his index finger over the other man's beautiful mouth. "Yeah," he agreed. Lust-blind, he blinked the sweat from his eyes. "Don't!" he said sharply, when it became clear that Gerard intended to give him head.

The imperative stopped Gerard dead. "It's all right, Richard. I won't do anything you don't want," he promised in immediate and unnecessary reassurance, releasing every point of contact.

Kimble groaned his frustration. "Jesus, Sam, I know that. Damn it, that's not what I meant," he complained, taking Gerard's hands and placing them back on his own body. "Just...wait a minute." He fumbled for and retrieved the pack of condoms where they sat neglected on the nightstand.

"Use one of these. I won't be offended."

Taking the pack from him, Gerard tossed it back on the nightstand. "You test clean. And I want the taste of you, not latex. It's fine, Richard."

"Oh yeah," breathed Kimble fervently as Gerard's mouth engulfed the head of his cock. His fingers laced in that dark, dark hair, his gaze never left the other man.

 

"Oh jeez, no. Don't blow on my belly again," begged Gerard.

"Can't take it, huh?" mocked Kimble, although he had been careful to ensure his genitals were protected on this occasion.

"You know I can't."

"OK, relax. I won't." Leaning up over him, Kimble kissed him slowly and thoroughly - first on the mouth, then the heart, stomach and groin.

Totally spent, Gerard was a boneless sprawl on the carpet, his head on the cushions Kimble had dragged from the sofa.

Sunday was passing all too quickly. Soon it would be lunchtime. After that the wasteland when the weekend was almost over and they had to decide what their future - if any - would be.

"Will you paint me?" Kimble asked out of the blue. Settled on his back beside his lover, he had one knee upraised, one hand loosely encircling Gerard's wrist.

Gerard opened one eye. "You want stripes or polka dots?"

Kimble looked aggrieved. "You mean you won't?"

"I don't do portraits."

"There's something Sam Gerard can't do?" teased Kimble.

Gerard opened his second eye. "I didn't say I couldn't, Richard," he reproved, just before he yelped and convulsed when Kimble blew noisily on his belly.

 

Woken by a ticklish sensation, Kimble peered groggily downwards. It took a few seconds for him to realize the sensation was that of Gerard painting something on his stomach.

"What the - ?"

"Keep still or you'll get paint on your tee shirt. I'm almost done," said Gerard, a large, flat-palmed hand on Kimble's chest keeping him in place.

Relaxing back against the cushions, Kimble enjoyed all the expressions which crossed the engrossed, downbent face.

"There," said Gerard, sinking back onto his haunches to eye his handiwork with immodest approval.

"What is it?" asked Kimble, trying to make sense of the painting, which was upside down on him.

"A big dog," said Gerard blandly.

"I can see that much. I was just wondering at your choice."

Swinging his feet off the sofa, Kimble headed for the mirror then studied the reflection of the picture. "He's one ugly mutt."

"A lot of people would agree with you," Gerard conceded.

Kimble shot him a questioning look, then studied the painting again. "But kind of appealing," he allowed, touching the large black nose with a gentle finger. "I know you said you didn't do portraits, but you've a talent for cartoons. He's great. But he really reminds me of someone." He saw Gerard twitch, then rub his stubbled jaw with a studied nonchalance. Alerted, Kimble's eyes narrowed with suspicion. "What do they call you in the office?"

"Sir," replied Gerard promptly.

Kimble grinned at him. "Dreaming again, Sam?"

"I wish. I've just got this new kid, a G5. He's good but that's what he keeps calling me. It amuses the hell out of Cosmo."

"He sounds a good kid," said Kimble, before his eyes narrowed. "Cosmo?"

"Renfro. My deputy. He was the guy Nichols knocked out with the I-beam," Gerard offered. "Brown hair, beard."

"I remember him. Is he single?"

Gerard gave him a surprised look. "Why, you want a date?"

"Only with you. Kathy's dating this guy called Cosmo and she's being real coy about him. He'd be her type. And it occurred to me that not too many guys are called 'Cosmo'."

"One should be enough," Gerard agreed. "That's Dr Kathy Wahlund? Who was at the party with you?" While he'd known they weren't a couple, it was great to have it confirmed.

"That's the one. She's a terrific person. You'll like her," Kimble said, unaware of the assumption implicit in that statement. "Now, is Cosmo a good guy?"

"One of the best," replied Gerard. "And he's single. He's been divorced four years. He didn't cheat on his wife, doesn't drink to excess or gamble. She could do worse."

"Not that you're biased."

"Of course I'm biased. He's a friend."

Kimble nodded. "That's a recommendation in itself. I'll keep an eye on things. Who knows, maybe we'll get a chance to play cupid." He grinned at the appalled look which crossed Gerard's face. "That was just too easy. I've got far more sense. Anyway, Kathy would kill me." He fingered the now-dry paint on his belly. "It seems a pity to wash him off."

Standing slightly behind the other man, Gerard's reflection went still, the sweep of his eyelashes masking his eyes. "He could be a permanent fixture if you like."

Still staring into the mirror, Kimble's face betrayed his dawning comprehension. "I knew his expression reminded me of someone." He looked pointedly at Gerard, who gave him a bland smile before he swooped down to swipe his tongue across Kimble's stomach then grimaced at the taste of the paint. "Next time I'll use food coloring."

"Would you do me another copy? One I can hang in my office?" asked Kimble.

Realizing the other man really wanted this, Gerard nodded. "I might consider it. In return for sexual favors."

"From me?" Kimble checked, trying to look humble.

"That was pitiful, Richard. Go shower and I'll wash your belly for you."

 

Although they both needed to make an early start on Monday morning, not least so Kimble could go home and pick up a suit for work, they found various excuses to put off going to sleep.

"This is ridiculous," snapped Gerard into the darkness. Flicking on the light, he stalked from the bed and out of the room; the tightened muscles of his butt betrayed exactly how tense he was.

Hurrying after him, Kimble bumped into the other man in the bedroom doorway because Gerard was already on his way back.

His face stark with nerves, Gerard stared at him in unblinking silence. "I want to see you again. Every day would be fine by me. This is the key to the apartment. The other's for the basement car park. This is my office number, and this the number of my mobile." The hand which gracelessly shoved everything at Kimble was unsteady.

Gerard exhaled slowly when he realized Kimble was staring at him with an equal intensity.

"There's a piece of paper next to the microwave. I don't have spare keys with me but I wrote out a list with the security code for my burglar alarm and my phone numbers while I was in the john. I was going to courier a set of keys over to you," Kimble added in his gruffest voice.

Gerard nodded. "That's - that's great."

"If you need to see me at the hospital it's 1835 West Harrison - " He caught the affectionate amusement on Sam's face. "OK, so I'm stating the obvious. I guess Cook County would be hard to miss."

Setting the keys on the nearest surface, Kimble wrapped his long-fingered hands around the other man's skull, stepped in as close as he could get and kissed Gerard as if the end of the world was imminent.

The strength in the hug Gerard gave him made Kimble grunt - not in protest. They remained locked together for several seconds longer before slowly drawing away.

"While I hate to say it, because you don't need any encouragement, you were right," Kimble said.

"About what in particular?"

"Crazy is good. Hell, it's fantastic, Sam."

"Yes, it is," agreed Gerard.

When they were back in bed with the lights out, Gerard tucked an arm over his lover. "I can get called away at any time. I might not have a chance to call you."

"That won't be a problem. The same thing can happen to me. Though the odds are I'll only be at County. Um. When you - We are going to make this work, aren't we, Sam?"

"Yes," said Gerard immediately. His flat certainty was more comforting than any lengthy assurances.

"I knew that," Kimble said defensively. "I just needed to hear you say it. If I wear jeans to work you can have my set of keys. Meet me at the house tomorrow - tonight," he amended when he realized what time it was. "The Dan Ryan Expressway will take you straight there - more or less."

"OK," said Gerard, but the warmth and pleasure in his voice spoke volumes. His butt received a pat of approval.

"A compliant Sam Gerard. I could get to like this," mused Kimble in his most provocative tone.

Gerard gave an amused snort into his companion's neck, then fell silent.

"What?" asked Kimble a few minutes later.

"How did you know there's something bugging me?" said Gerard, stirring slightly.

"I have this incredible insight. And I'm trying real hard," Kimble added with an honesty which earned him an absent-minded kiss of approval before Gerard propped himself up on one elbow.

"At the party, when you first saw me. There was fear in your eyes. Were you afraid of me?" Gerard asked in a low voice, avoiding the other man's gaze.

"Not of you but because you were there, seeking me out," said Kimble cryptically, before he struggled to explain. "I saw you when I was least expecting it and I had to face some truths about myself that I'd been avoiding. I knew in that moment that I'd be leaving everything that was familiar to step into new territory and it scared the crap out of me. But worse was the thought that you wouldn't ask anything of me, because then I would have been stranded, with nowhere to go."

Gerard was staring at him. "You mean it was like that for you, too?"

It was a moment before Kimble heard the last word.

Then they were holding on tight to their own personal lifeline, muttering into each others necks.

 

Because they overslept, the morning was a race to shower, shave, dress and drink coffee without falling over each other. Neither man was too preoccupied to notice that they moved around each other as if they had been doing it for years.

They were in the hallway, Gerard looking more like the successful surgeon than Kimble, who was in jeans and trainers, when Kimble placed a hand on Gerard's chest and gently pushed him back against the wall, holding him there.

"No, don't interrupt me, Sam. You've been doing that all weekend," Kimble told him, his deep voice rushed and unsteady. "Every damn time I think I'm finally going to get to suck your cock you distract me and then you've come and I still haven't tasted you. Or not properly. If I don't do this now I'll end up killing someone in surgery because my mind will be on you and not what I'm doing so it will all be your fault. And if that wasn't bad enough, I was too damn afraid to ask you to fuck me in case I'd turn you off, or scare you off, or - "

His eyes wide, Gerard was staring at him. "You mean we could have been - ? You damn fool," he grated, just before he hauled his unresisting companion off in the direction of the bedroom. "I spent all weekend wishing I had the guts to ask you to fuck me. I've spent longer than I care to think about fantasizing about you fucking me and you pick this fucking moment to tell me - What time is your first operation slated for?"

"Uh - " With the sight of Sam Gerard peeling off his clothing, Kimble couldn't think.

"Concentrate, Richard," commanded Gerard, standing on one leg as he yanked off a sock.

"Nine thirty," croaked Kimble, mesmerized by lust.

Gerard checked his watch. "Cosmo can handle the meeting I'm supposed to be chairing so I can drive you to Cook Country. This time of day - " His lips moved in silent calculation. "Even allowing for worse case scenario traffic, we have forty minutes. So don't waste any more of it." Wearing only his watch by this time, he tossed the lubricant at his lover and bent over the side of the bed.

"You want me to - uh - ?" All thumbs, Kimble was half-naked already.

"Just get on with it, Richard."

"Only I've never done this before, Sam," Kimble said anxiously.

"Then we can learn together."

Naked from the waist down, Kimble had to pause to kiss the sharp-pricked bones of Gerard's spinal column. "Yeah. You sure you want me to go first?"

Gerard's head turned but there was little that was lover-like on his impatient face.

"Just checking," Kimble said.

His hands were shaking so much that he dropped the lubricant three times before he managed to get the top off. In marked contrast, while achingly erect, Gerard was calmness itself. Sighing, he applied lubricant to himself, Kimble's dick and then the doctor's shaking fingers.

"I'm not about to turn into a backseat driver but do you think you can manage the rest for yourself?" Gerard enquired. "It'll be fine," he added gently, his mouth hovering over Kimble's.

And then they were kissing, Richard's tongue fucking his mouth as Richard's fingers slid into him, moving in rhythm to his tongue.

Later, a very short time later, it was Richard's cock sinking home as Richard began to fuck him, tentative at first, as if afraid Gerard would break. Gaining in confidence after some rough-voiced encouragement, he began to move freely, strength unleashed. Intent and silent by this time, Gerard didn't make a sound until the second he came, but there was still remnants of his goofy expression in place when he dropped Kimble off at the hospital.

 

For the first time that anyone in the deputy U.S. Marshal's Office could remember Samuel Gerard was late for work. He was also in an unsettlingly good mood.

 

Over at Cook County, Doctor Kimble came out of surgery to find a package had been couriered over to him. The pen and ink cartoon was vivid and vital, the dog's tongue drooping from the corner of its jaw. It bore an uncanny resemblance to the man who had created it, the goofy expression just like the one he had seen on Sam's face only five hours ago. The sketch was signed 'Big Dog'.

Unable to stop smiling, Kimble touched it with a gentle finger, wondering when Gerard had found time to do this and get it framed. Then he took down one of his certificates and hung the cartoon where he would be able to see it from his desk before he went back to work.

 

Shaking his head to himself, Cosmo Renfro watched Sam Gerard sitting at his desk, running a toy Ferrari backwards and forwards over the paperwork he was supposed to be dealing with, a decidedly sappy grin on his face.

Sam was definitely losing it, he decided tolerantly. It was either the pressures of the job getting to him - or love. And from the way he'd been whistling off-key, smiling into the distance, and needing to have things repeated to him, he knew what he thought was afflicting Sam. But it couldn't hurt to start an office sweepstake. He could do with some extra cash.

Sweepstake duly organized, it occurred to Renfro that if he cleared the paperwork on his desk, he could meet Kathy earlier than planned. Getting down to work, a sparkle in his eyes, he began to whistle the same off-key tune he'd been hearing from Gerard all day.

 

Much to Gerard's mystification, by the time the office emptied that evening half the department were humming 'Falling in Love Again'. He hoped not. Deputies in love never had their minds on their job.

-End-

**Author's Note:**

> Completed September 1998  
> Originally appeared in the zine ALTER EGOS 3


End file.
